Tag Archives: almost there

And as of this week, I have finally broken my long string of first dates. Mr. Almost There, the ONE decent date that I’ve had all year, asked me out for a second date!

And even though sparks didn’t exactly fly on our first date (he was a munchkin), I said yes so that I could give him a second chance to charm my pants off — a second chance to make me overcome my inability to be attracted to a munchkin man.

So this past Thursday night, and even though I had pulled out my flattest pair of shoes I was feeling optimistic…

The same jacket, I swear!

…until I saw him.

Mr. Almost There looked like the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. (This is the second time that my date has resembled a character from Alice in Wonderland — see Mr. Cheshire Cat. Perhaps my dating life is just one endless LSD trip…)

He was wearing that very jacket AND carrying an enormous umbrella with a wooden hooked handle. What made it worse was the fact that the length of his umbrella was almost 3/4 of his height!

I had to take deep breaths to avoid laughing hysterically. I almost gave myself the hiccups.

His legs were this short too...

It didn’t help that when he started walking, he looked like the Disney version of the White Rabbit —>

Absurdly funny, but definitely not sexy.

Especially considering that I was still taller than him in my flat shoes (again, I’m 5’3″, people).

But then it got worse.

On this second date, Mr. Almost There came across as a bit of a condescending prick. He asked me where I went to university, and after I told him, he started acting like a patronizing ass-face.

He probably felt insecure about whether he measured up intellectually. Either that or he thought that I’d be turned on by a man who antagonized me about everything from not putting accents in emails sent from my iPod (the thing doesn’t even do accents!) to being unable conjugate “promouvoir” in the subjunctive (dude, I know French people who can’t conjugate it in the present tense).

What an asstard.

Munchkinosis + asstardedness = zero chance of hanky-panky.

Basic mathematics.

His insecurities about our intellectual equality were well-founded after all… because he definitely didn’t understand that equation.

Going in for the kill?

Mr. Almost There somehow thought that our date was coming along swimmingly. At the end of the night, as we were saying our goodbyes, he leaned in for the kill…

It’s times like this that I LOVE living in France — a country where la bise, the kiss planted on each cheek, is a perfectly polite greeting and parting salutation.

Even Obama knows la bise.

… so I deftly executed what I call the Mouth-to-Cheek Slide, my best post-date-kiss evasion tactic. I round off the move with a full la bise and step back to admire my handiwork.

The look on his face was priceless.

Befuddlement, sheepishness, and irritation.

The best thing about all this: the condescending turd can never accuse me of being impolite!

This will come as a shock to those who have been following my string of one-hit disasters on this blog. But I just had a GOOD date.

Gasp! Shock! Awe! Disbelief!

I know. You all thought that I was a cynical, demanding harpy who enjoys putting man-products through my buzz-saw of criticism — just to get my giggles.

Well, maybe I am. But not today.

Mr. Almost There was almost everything that I could ask for in a pleasant date buddy. He provided witty and engaging conversation, he was passionate about his cool job and his hobbies, and he showed that he was a fun-loving guy who could also appreciate cultural activities and serious discussions. He was also the consummate gentleman.

And he was cute as buttons. He truly was.

There was only one problem:

Compared to him, I was kind of enormous.

I know that I have blogged before about the diminutive size of my date by making wisecracks about munchkins (see Ms. Drunk Date), but it matters more now that I actually like this guy. In principle, I have nothing against smaller guys; I am not demanding in the sense that I need some Nordic giant on my arm.

But it’s just a little demoralizing when a lady of 1.6 m / 5’3″ dwarfs her male companion. It’s just that I like to snuggle up to a substantial piece of man. And “substantial” — in relative terms — is not that difficult to find for someone my size.

It’s not just a matter of height. I hate to bring up a cliché, but size DOES matter.

My shoulders are broader than his.

My arms are about the width of his legs.

Not cute.

So I’ll bottom-line it for you all. If he asks me out for a second date, I’d be more than willing to give it a shot. And no, it won’t ONLY be due to the fact that it’s my goal for March (see Ms. Anniversary) to get a second date.

If he wows me a second time, I’m sure that I can get over my superficial concerns. I’m a modern woman, after all, right? Right?? (Am I saying this to convince myself? Perhaps…)

Mr. Almost There really was ALMOST THERE. He was almost attractive. Almost.

Sigh.

I am such a superficial hussy.

Share this:

Like this:

About me

I'm a twenty-something American woman who tried to make sense of dating and romance in Paris -- or the lack thereof. The Frenchmen were products on the shelf, and I was a shopaholic. But the social experiment continues in D.C., now that I'm back in the USA and on the prowl for new (American) toys to play with!